The Blade That Leaves the Nest
The dojo was silent.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind where even the air knew better than to move.
I stood at one end of the wooden floor, barefoot, the grain of the planks familiar beneath my feet. Across from me stood my father—Shimotsuki Koushirou—his posture relaxed, sword held loosely at his side.
But I knew better.
This man was a mountain pretending to be still water.
Around us, students lined the walls, breath held. Zoro stood among them, arms crossed, eyes burning with something close to reverence.
This was not a spar.
This was not a lesson.
This was a farewell carved in steel.
Koushirou spoke first.
"So," he said calmly, "you've finally come."
"Yes."
"You waited years."
"I needed to be certain."
His glasses reflected the lantern light as he studied me.
"…You're taller now," he said. "Heavier. Your stance has changed."
"I grew."
"So I see."
He drew his sword.
The sound was soft—but final.
"When you cross blades with me," he continued, "you are no longer my child in this dojo."
I bowed deeply.
"I understand."
He returned the bow.
"Begin."
I moved first.
Not with speed—but with intent.
Our swords met with a single, clean clang.
No wasted force.
No flourish.
Just two blades testing the other's existence.
Koushirou stepped back half a pace, eyes sharp.
"You don't rush," he observed. "You don't hesitate."
"I learned from losing."
Our blades met again.
And again.
Each strike measured. Each parry precise.
This wasn't a clash of strength.
It was a conversation.
"You borrowed madness from that boy," my father said, deflecting a downward cut.
"And discipline from you," I replied, twisting my wrist and sliding past his guard.
He smiled faintly.
"I see."
The floor creaked as he advanced.
Pressure rolled off him—not brute force, but certainty. His blade moved like water, flowing around mine, forcing me to adjust, retreat, adapt.
I gritted my teeth.
So this is it.
This was the difference.
Years of mastery versus years of hunger.
He struck.
I blocked.
My arms rang with the shock.
"You've surpassed what I expected," he said. "But you still rely on your body."
I pivoted, slashed low.
"And you rely on experience."
Steel screamed.
The dojo echoed with the sound.
Students leaned forward unconsciously.
Zoro's fists clenched.
My father suddenly vanished from my sight—
No.
He stepped inside my perception.
His blade pressed against my throat.
I froze.
"…Dead," he said calmly.
I exhaled slowly.
"Yes."
He stepped back and lowered his sword.
"But you didn't panic," he continued. "Again."
We resumed.
This time, I changed.
I slowed my breathing.
Let the world sharpen.
Every movement became clearer. The angle of his wrist. The shift of his weight. The moment his intention formed.
Not prediction.
Understanding.
We clashed harder now.
Wood splintered beneath our feet. Sweat dripped down my spine. My lungs burned—but my focus did not waver.
"You're listening to the blade," Koushirou said, eyes narrowing. "Not just swinging it."
"That's what you taught me."
He attacked in earnest.
No restraint.
No holding back.
The pressure was overwhelming.
This was the man who had crushed my challenges effortlessly for years.
I felt myself being pushed.
Back.
Back.
Then—
I stopped retreating.
I stepped forward.
Our swords locked.
The dojo groaned.
Students gasped.
Koushirou's eyes widened slightly.
"…So you've decided."
"Yes."
"To leave."
"Yes."
"To risk death."
"Yes."
"To walk a road that even men with monstrous talent fail on."
"Yes."
Our blades trembled between us.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
I answered without thinking.
"Because if I stay… I will rot."
Something shifted.
Not in me.
In him.
He stepped back slowly.
Lowered his blade.
"…Then show me," he said.
His voice sharpened.
"The blade you'll carry into the world."
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat.
Remembered everything.
The rope.
The mirror.
The pain.
The years.
Zoro's defiance.
My father's fear.
Kuina's despair.
My resolve.
I opened my eyes.
And cut.
Not with strength.
Not with speed.
But with everything I was.
The floor split.
The air screamed.
My blade stopped an inch from my father's chest.
My Father did not even tried to block or evade the attack he just stood there
Silence crashed down.
The dojo stood frozen.
Koushirou stared at the blade.
Then at me.
Then—
He laughed.
A soft, tired laugh.
"…You've done it."
I lowered my sword, breathing hard.
"i win ?" I asked quietly.
He shook his head.
"No."
My heart sank—
"You can't defeat me Tsurugi..but there is a Yet and big Yet ..you have improved so much i feel proud to have you asmy son ..and so i can't stop my son
You can leave"
Relief washed through me like rain.
He turned away.
"Pack your things," he said. "At dawn."
The students erupted into whispers.
Zoro stared at me like I'd just split the sky.
Koushirou paused at the door.
"One more thing."
I looked up.
"When you reach the summit," he said without turning, "don't look down."
I bowed deeply.
"I won't."
That night, I stood alone in the dojo.
Wado Ichimonji resting at my side.
Tomorrow, I would leave everything I knew.
The village.
The safety.
The past.
Ahead lay monsters, legends, and a world that devoured dreamers whole.
I smiled.
"Good," I whispered.
Steel hummed softly in agreement.
And at dawn—
I would walk forward.
But I need to do few more things
Morning arrived gently.
The sun rose over Shimotsuki Village without fanfare, spilling pale gold over the rice fields and wooden rooftops. A thin mist clung to the ground, as if the village itself was reluctant to let go.
I stood at the edge of the training field, travel pack resting at my feet.
The Wado Ichimonji was still at my waist.
Not for long.
Footsteps approached from behind—steady, familiar.
I didn't turn.
"You're leaving," Zoro said.
Not a question.
"Yes."
He came to stand beside me, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon. The wind tugged lightly at his bandana tied around his arm.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I broke the silence.
"Zoro," I said quietly. "Do you remember what we dreamed about… years ago?"
He snorted. "How could I forget?"
I turned to face him.
"You said you'd become the world's greatest swordsman," I continued. "That you'd stand at the very top, no matter who stood in your way."
His eye sharpened.
"That hasn't changed."
Good.
"Is your resolve still that strong?" I asked. "Strong enough to bet your life on it?"
Zoro finally looked at me fully.
"Stronger," he said without hesitation. "I'll be the best. No matter what."
A smile tugged at my lips.
"Then it's a promise," I said.
I extended my hand.
"Either you or me will become the world's greatest swordsman."
He slapped my hand aside and grinned fiercely.
"Obviously me."
I laughed softly.
"Then keep training," I said. "Because when we meet again… I won't be the same person you fought here."
His grin widened.
"Tch. Same goes for you."
I reached for my sword.
Slowly, deliberately, I drew the Wado Ichimonji from its sheath.
The white scabbard gleamed in the morning light.
Zoro's eyes widened.
"…Oi," he said. "What are you doing?"
I held the sword out toward him.
"Take it."
The world seemed to pause.
"…That's your sword," he said.
I shook my head.
"Yes but I want you to have it it will remind you about our promise so have it and return me when you become the world's best
Zoro's hands trembled as he reached out.
"I'll return it," he said suddenly. "Once I become the best."
I smiled.
"I'll be waiting."
He accepted the Wado Ichimonji, gripping it as if it might vanish.
"I swear," Zoro said, voice low and burning. "I'll return it to you… after I defeat you."
"That's how it should be."
We stood there a moment longer, two paths diverging.
Then he turned sharply.
"I'm leaving too," he said. "Soon."
I nodded.
"Good."
My father waited near the dock.
A small boat bobbed gently in the water, stocked with simple supplies—food, water, a spare cloak. Nothing extravagant.
Freedom rarely was.
His eyes flicked to my waist.
"…Where is Wado Ichimonji?"
"I gave it to Zoro," I said.
He studied my face.
"…Why?"
"I made a promise," I replied. "
Koushirou was silent for a long moment.
Then he turned.
"Wait here."
He disappeared into the house.
When he returned, he carried a sword wrapped in dark cloth.
He knelt before me and placed it carefully in my hands.
"This belonged to my father," he said. "Shimotsuki Kozaburō."
My breath caught.
"The man who forged legendary blades," he continued. "A blacksmith who believed swords carried the souls of their wielders."
I carefully unwrapped it.
The blade was unassuming—but heavy with presence. Its dark pitch black blade with its sharo cutting edge with silver colour..and Sheath was Midnight blue
"This sword has no name," he said. "It was waiting."
He looked up at me.
I said then
"Give it one."
I closed my eyes. With the anticipation of something good .
Koushirou nodded once.
And then he said blade which can cute fate itself Unmei Ori
I opened my eyes and said thanks Father I loved it and hold the sword tightly
Father then hugged me and said
"…Then go."
Zoro appeared at the dock, Wado Ichimonji at his side.
Neither of them smiled.
The boat drifted slightly as I stepped in.
I bowed deeply.
"I'll return," I said. "Stronger."
Zoro raised a fist.
"Don't die."
I smirked. "Same to you."
The boat pushed off.
As Shimotsuki Village grew smaller, two figures remained at the shore—one father, one rival.
Both watching a path that could never be safe.
I faced forward.
The sea stretched endlessly before me.
And somewhere out there—
My destiny waited.